


Angels in Hiding

by Minion99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s07e10 Death's Door, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minion99/pseuds/Minion99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean copes with the loss of Bobby and Cas the best way he knows how. He thinks he's just reliving the memories, but is there something more going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels in Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through season 7.

The night Bobby died, Dean didn’t think he could sleep at all but he was impossibly tired. His head ached with flashbacks of memories from over the years, punctuated by moments where he was certain this wasn’t real and that Bobby would wake any moment now. 

Sam had sensed his brother’s anguish and vacated to the nearest diner to wallow in misery in his own way--by burying his head in one of Bobby’s books and forcing himself to accept what had happened. 

In the motel, Dean set to work with Sam’s laptop in attempt to find Dick Roman or any clues of where to find him. He had every intention of staying up awake until he found something, whether it be tonight or next week. He scrolled through pages, he clicked on links, he bookmarked things of interest for Sam to read. It was when he stumbled upon something in Japanese that, out of pure habit, he picked up his phone and scrolled to Bobby’s number. 

It was in that moment that Dean Winchester let himself break. He stared at the screen of the phone until it went blurry, tears welling up uncontrollably. It slipped to the floor with a thud and he found himself slamming the laptop shut as he stood. He wanted to put his fist through the wall. He wanted to pick up that gawdy lamp by the bed and heave it through the window of this dingy place. He wanted stab a demon repeatedly until this feeling left him. He wanted to see Cas. 

He sighed heavily at his last thought, sitting on the edge of the bed. As if losing Bobby wasn’t bad enough, but with Cas being gone it made it even more difficult. He knew if Cas were around, he would be able to talk to him about this in a way he didn’t feel comfortable talking with Sam. Instinctively, he pulled his canvas duffel towards him, slowly opening the zipper and extracting the item that had been most familiar to him lately. The trench was folded as best he could manage in a duffel bag that more often than not was used to carry weapons more than clothing. 

Fisting his fingers in the tan material, he closed his eyes and let himself go. Tears rolled down his cheeks, splattering on the cheap material leaving small dark spots. He wondered ever so briefly if it was even possible to make a deal with a crossroads demon for an angel to be brought back. He silently admonished himself for this thought being that it was Bobby that died today and then he chuckled quietly at how pissed Bobby would be if he made a deal with a crossroads demon. Again. 

Dean reached for the half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label and began to polish it off. He just wanted to not feel anything for awhile. Not happiness, not sadness, not grief...not this ache inside of himself. He wanted the people he cared about to stop dying. 

Once the bottle was empty, he dropped it to the floor and leaned back on the bed, tucking the trench coat under his head atop the pitiful excuse for motel pillows. He just needed one night to remember and he’d get back to research in the morning, he promised himself. One night to recall all the times Bobby had made them feel more like sons than their own father; one night to recall the brilliant, questioning blue of Cas’ eyes and the way he had felt so much trust in him. One more night. 

 

About 700 miles away, Emanuel stirred in his sleep, turning over restlessly next to Daphne. His brows furrowed at the dream he was having and yet he felt like he couldn't wake himself up. 

He couldn’t place it but he felt as if someone were talking to him and he had an overwhelming sense of sadness inside. The voice in his head was cryptic and broken, like an old CB radio going in and out between transmissions. He managed to pick out a few parts that he told himself he’d remember tomorrow when he woke. 

 

_"Why did it have to be you? Of all the people in the world, why you?”_

_“I can forget it all, let it all go if...maybe you can come back.”_

The last one was in clips but he could feel the meaning, the need and the sincerity in the broken words.

 _“I trusted you... I--,”_ the words crackled in his head, _"I........ you.”_

 

The following morning when he woke the sadness inside him still lingered, but he couldn’t place what from. He lay still in bed for a few moments thinking, trying desperately to remember his dream but it wasn’t coming to him. He sighed, looking to his right at his wife before slipping out of bed to head downstairs and make coffee. 

The ache in his chest subsided only slightly, he poured himself a cup and waited for Daphne to wake up. He found himself at the kitchen table, looking through the paper and noticed he had a very distinct craving for apple pie.


End file.
